


A Klingon Warrior Never Calls, Never Writes

by Erradianwhocantread



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Banter, F/M, Jewish Worf, cultural anxieties, gentle marital teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 21:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erradianwhocantread/pseuds/Erradianwhocantread
Summary: Commission for katiescarlett29. Worf's foster-parents want to see him get married. Worf isn't too keen on the idea.





	A Klingon Warrior Never Calls, Never Writes

**Author's Note:**

> hope you like this, katiescarlett29!

“We are not going,” said Worf, with the sense of finality with which he said most things. Jadzia rolled her eyes and looked at him with that infuriating combination of determination and mischief that meant he was probably going to lose this battle. But no Klingon warrior ever let poor odds rob them of their honor. “Do not look at me like that. It will not help. I am immune to your wiles. Besides, it is too far, and Captain Sisko cannot spare us now.”

Jadzia’s hands were on her hips now, and her head tilted to the side. Worf knew as he was saying it that bringing the captain into this was a losing strategy, but somehow it had seemed best to make the practical argument. “Worf, if I told Benjamin that your parents--”

“Foster parents,” he corrected.

“Were offering to throw another ceremony for us since neither of our families could get to Deep Space Nine during the war, I guarantee you he’d let us off for it. He’d probably find a way to cater it!”

Worf huffed. They had been arguing about this ever since Jadzia had accidentally found the letter from his foster mother when she’d been looking for yet another thing she had misplaced, three hours ago. And he was running out of reasonable arguments. Soon he would be down to the unreasonable ones.

Behind him, Jadzia placed her raktajino on the table, came up to him, and wrapped her arms about him. “I  _ loved _ that we had a traditional Klingon wedding with all the trappings,” she said, and he knew she meant it. “But I wish my parents could have been there. I wish my friends from the science academy and Orli who, helped me reapply to be joined, could have been there. I want them to meet you.”

“Then we can visit them when we have shore leave,” he replied curtly.

“Worf. Why don’t you want me to meet your foster parents?”

He wanted to say “you would not understand,” but she would (if he explained it, which he did not want to), and she did not like being told she wouldn’t understand things. So instead he said “They are… embarrassing.”

He could feel her trying not to laugh against his back. From the way she had asked the question, she had probably expected something more serious. “They’re your parents. They’re supposed to be embarrassing. I’ve been a child  _ and  _ a parent enough times to know. It comes with the job.”

Of course, this was what any of his non-Klingon friends would say. “Klingon parents are not embarrassing.”

“Is it just because they’re human?”

Worf sighed. “They are… especially human. The way Dr. Bashir is… especially human.” Jadzia could not contain her laughter at the comparison. “And what they are suggesting is not a typical human wedding ceremony.” He had seen, and been a part of many of those on the Enterprise. For the most part, they were dignified enough affairs, if too soft for his tastes. The O’Brien’s wedding in particular had been most elegant. “My foster parents are traditional.” It would have been an admirable quality had they been Klingon.

“Worf, I thought you liked tradition.”

“Not these traditions.”

“Is this about the chooppa?” Jadzia pronounced it like “charm,” which proved that she had no idea what they would be walking into. 

“The chuppah is the least of our problems.”

“Well what are the worst of them? I negotiated the truce between the Klingon Empire and the Federation, I’m sure I can handle some obscure human traditions.”

Truthfully, there were some parts of this ceremony Worf would not object to at all. He was indifferent to the chuppah. The breaking of the glass was, while not Klingon in actuality, certainly Klingon in spirit. But the rest of it… “They will behave ridiculously. Both of them will certainly cry. My mother will probably blow her nose loudly during the ceremony.”

“Terrible,” said Jadzia gravely.

“Everyone present will be boisterous. After the ceremony is complete they will make us go into a room together and will wait outside of it. To make sure we have officialized our union.”

“I can give a good show,” Jadzia quipped.

Worf ignored her. “And when we come out, they will all cheer and make lewd comments.”

“Sounds like my kind of humans.”

“And then we will have to do the dance.”

“The dance?”

“Yes. They will lift us up in chairs and carry us around the room and sing.”

“I’m guessing they won’t be singing Klingon opera?”

“No.” The traditional wedding song was perhaps the least Klingon song Worf could think of. There was, in fact, no way to even translate it into Klingon.

“Sounds like fun.” 

Worf sighed. Jadzia’s most ambivalent quality was, perhaps, her definition of fun. 

“But, if observing your foster-parents’ cultural traditions really is that awful--”

“It is not that,” Worf insisted. It was, but somehow hearing her say it made that admission sound judgemental in a way he didn’t mean it to. “Going all the way to Earth in the middle of a war just so we can have another wedding ceremony is irresponsible.”

Jadzia thought about this for a moment. “You know when you put it like that it almost sounds dishonorable.”

“Precisely,” said Worf. 

Jadzia gave him a peck on the shoulder and walked across the room to her favorite chair, swiping a PADD from the table on her way. She sprawled nonchalantly in it, one leg over the arm and sipped her Raktajino. Worf assumed this meant she had accepted his reasoning, or at least decided it wasn’t her place to push him on this, and that the subject was closed. He picked up his own PADD and opened the folder labeled “crew rotations,” in which he kept all of his foster-parent’s traditional stories of the wise sage and his adventures in the ancient east of Europe. While the stories of the Baal Shem Tov contrasted starkly with Klingon values, he had always found great merit in them, and, especially since coming to Deep Space Nine, their messages had proved extremely useful. “Be patient in judgement” was one he needed to remind himself of daily here. And reading them made him feel less guilty every time he failed to answer a subspace message from his mother. He was just making his way over to the replicator to get himself something to drink when he realized how wrong that assumption had been.

“You know,” Jadzia said, not looking up from whatever she was reading, “Trill is only a couple days from the station at high warp.”

Worf responded by asking the replicator for a Raktajino. 

“I haven’t exactly been in a hurry to go back there after what happened with the Symbiosis Commission,” she continued, “But it seems like a logical compromise. It’s a longer trip from Earth, but your foster-parents are retired, and that way my family could meet you.”

“Jadzia!”

“And as far as I can tell, there is nothing that says you  _ can’t _ make a Chuppah out of bat’leths.”


End file.
